wo'um? Wuil thu marra
wo'um?_ Father, son of my heart, son of my heart, art thou dead
from me--art thou dead from me?" An expression, we think, under
any circumstances, not to be surpassed in the intensity of domestic
affection which it expresses; but under those alluded to, we consider
it altogether elevated in exquisite and poetic beauty above the most
powerful symbols of Oriental imagery.

A third phrase peculiar to love and affection, is "_Manim asthee
hu--or_, My soul's within you." Every person acquainted with languages
knows how much an idiom suffers by a literal translation. How beautiful,
then, how tender and powerful, must those short expressions be, uttered,
too, with a fervor of manner peculiar to a deeply feeling people, when,
even after a literal translation, they carry so much of their tenderness
and energy into a language whose genius is cold when compared to the
glowing beauty of the Irish.

_Mauourneen dheelish_, too, is only a short phrase, but, coming warm and
mellowed from Paddy's lips into the ear of his _colleen dhas_, it is
a perfect spell--a sweet murmur, to which the _lenis susurrus_ of the
Hybla bees is, with all their honey, jarring discord. How tame is
"My sweet darling," its literal translation, compared to its soft and
lulling intonations. There is a dissolving, entrancing, beguiling,
deluding, flattering, insinuating, coaxing, winning, inveigling,
roguish, palavering, come-overing, comedhering, consenting, blarneying,
killing, willing, charm in it, worth all the philters that ever the
gross knavery of a withered alchemist imposed upon the credulity of
those who inhabit the other nations of the earth--for we don't read that
these shrivelled philter-mongers ever prospered in Ireland.

No, no--let Paddy alone. If he hates intensely and effectually, he loves
intensely, comprehensively, and gallantly. To love with power is a proof
of a large soul, and to hate well is, according to the great moralist,
a thing in itself to be loved. Ireland is, therefore, through all its
sects, parties, and religions, an amicable nation. Their affections are,
indeed, so vivid, that they scruple not sometimes to kill each other
with kindness: but we hope that the march of love and friendship will
not only keep pace with, but outstrip, the march of intellect.

*****

Peter Cornell was for many years of his life a pattern and proverb
for industry and sobriety. He first began the world as keeper of a
shebeen-